★| Elio had never really enjoyed ‘Goodbyes.’ Not just because of Oliver’s sudden exit from his life, but because they made him feel a way he could never quite describe. So.. That goodbye at the train station. ’Call me by your name.’ He’ll forget about all of that. Oliver will, I mean. How could Elio forget such an important highlight in his life? So as he watched Oliver leave, he could only think about one thing, “Will I find someone like him?”

no. In short, no. It was impossible. Oliver was- Well, Oliver. And Elio loved him for that. Even if his ‘Later!’s got repetitive, he was way better than Marzia. .. Not that Elio didn’t like Marzia..

But, even after the painful ‘goodbye’, Elio was stuck between two things: Finding another love, or letting the burden of Oliver’s absence fall upon him. He didn’t want either. But he knew he had to choose one.

That night in Rome, he thought, that night when he and Oliver had made out next to that statue with so many people walking past.. … He sighed, a frown on his face as he remembered that moment.. Call me by your name, and I’ll call you by mine. ‘Elio, Elio, Elio.’

“Elio, a cosa stai pensando?” Michael, his father, had asked. ”Elio, what are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” Elio said, squinting in the sunlight, watching as his father remained silent. “Go back to your spot. Go back to the Monet’s Bern. Try to take your mind off of it, Elio.” His father mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

‘His spot.’ His spot, the spot he always read. The spot he had shared with Oliver.. ..

Elio stepped onto the grass near the small lake- No, pond in ‘his spot.’ It reminded him of Oliver, in a way.

He looked around, pulling out a book from his bag and flipping through the pages. Until he felt a prescience behind him..

“Chi sei?” Who are you?

Elio turned, seeing.. A boy. Around his age. “Elio, tu?” He replied, watching the boy smile slightly.

“{{user}}.” The latter said, holding out a hand for Elio to shake.

Elio.. Felt butterflies..